


By the Fireplace

by duesternis



Series: This home, with you [1]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29757234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duesternis/pseuds/duesternis
Summary: Francis had fallen asleep in his chair by the fire.James had noticed twenty minutes ago, when Francis had snored softly for the first time.And now, for the past twenty minutes James had looked at his dear face.Francis‘ chin had fallen on his chest, his mouth was slack and half-open, his brows for once relaxed.The square, strong hands were folded loosely on his soft belly and James couldn’t help the smile that kept curling his mouth.
Relationships: Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames
Series: This home, with you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2187075
Comments: 9
Kudos: 31





	By the Fireplace

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this ages ago when i just got into the terror and had it lying around long enough.  
> Have some basic domestic fitzier-fluff, i guess

Francis had fallen asleep in his chair by the fire.  
James had noticed twenty minutes ago, when Francis had snored softly for the first time.   
And now, for the past twenty minutes James had looked at his dear face.  
Francis‘ chin had fallen on his chest, his mouth was slack and half-open, his brows for once relaxed.  
The square, strong hands were folded loosely on his soft belly and James couldn’t help the smile that kept curling his mouth.  
Francis‘ stocking feet were stretched towards the fire, all toes miraculously still accounted for.  
James could see the big toe of his left foot poke through a hole in the wool.

Their maid was slacking off with the upkeep of their wardrobe, but Francis would never stand for letting the slight, Irish girl go.  
Sometimes they stood together in the kitchen, Francis with a cup of tea, the maid readying dinner or something like that, and they held rapid-fire conversations in their native Irish.  
Sometimes James stood just beyond the door jamb, quite invisible to them and listened.  
It was a comfort to know that Francis was comfortable enough in their home to speak Irish.  
A language, he’d confessed to James one night, that he usually never spoke outside of immediate family, or visits to the island itself; few that they were.  
And now Francis was comfortable enough to speak it at home.

And now Francis was comfortable enough to fall asleep by the fire, too.  
James smiled again and rested his chin in his hand. Looked his fill.  
Francis snored, hands twitching faintly on his stomach.  
“Are you dreaming, dear man? Dreaming of something good, I hope.”  
James stretched his legs out, toes coming into soft contact with the side of Francis‘ foot.  
It twitched, Francis grumbled, but did not rouse.

James stifled a laugh, busying himself with his reading for a moment, to quell the urge.  
He didn’t want to wake Francis.  
Restful sleep still came in fits and bursts for them both, nightmares and half-sleep the norm.  
Even after the years away from the ice.  
James smiled melancholy and sighed.  
Decidedly turned his thoughts away from those memories and instead focussed on his dear Francis again.

Who was mumbling in his sleep now, mouth moving.  
His feet twitched against James‘ feet and Francis blinked himself awake, startled.  
He groaned, stretched his neck and fisted his hands twice. The fingers were prone to stiffening.  
“Hullo, dear man.”  
Francis grunted, looked at James with bleary eyes and blinked. Yawned, not bothering to cover his mouth.  
James didn’t mind.  
In the privacy of their own house they were hardly the dignified gentlemen and Captains they were out and about.  
“James.” A curt nod and Francis pulled his legs under his chair.

James smiled at him. “You were quite soundly asleep.”  
“The warmth lulled me.”  
“I wasn’t aware you needed lulling. I could have held you, dear man.”  
Francis laughed, looked at James fondly, clearly now.  
All sleep blinked away from his pale eyes.  
James felt his cheeks warm under the steady gaze.  
“What time is it, James?”  
“Past eight. Maybe nine, now. Mallaidh is retired already, I believe. She neglected your stockings again.”  
“They’re socks, James. I’ll tell her.”

James smiled. It would go like this: Francis would forget to tell her, would mend the socks himself and Mallaidh would learn nothing.  
“Francis, dear, I do hope you’re quite aware that the child will never be able to serve another household than ours. No other Master or Mistress would tolerate her tardiness.”  
Francis grumbled something, looked at James ruefully, ran a hand through his hair, pushing it firmly into disarray.  
“I don’t plan on letting her go, James.” There was a reprimand in there somewhere. An approximation of Francis‘ Captain’s voice.

It made James smile at him fondly. “I don’t plan on that either. But one day we won’t be here anymore and Mallaidh will be quite without work then.”  
“We’ll write it down somewhere, that whoever buys the house must employ her ’til she’s quite dead herself.”  
Francis pushed himself out of his chair with a grunt and held his hands above the fire, warming the palms.  
James put his reading aside, the magazine whispering against the cushions.  
He rose too and joined Francis by the fire.

“Maybe one of my godchildren, or a niece or nephew from either of us can have the house and Mallaidh as-well. They know our eccentricities well enough to not balk at a clause like that.”  
Francis smiled at James and put an arm around his waist, pulling James quite snugly against his side.  
He was warm from the fire and sleep.  
James pressed a kiss to his disorderly, wispy hair. Francis hummed, pleased by that.  
“I like your thoughts, James, my love.”  
His hand squeezed James‘ waist warmly, thumb stroking a wonky circle into it.  
James laid his cheek against Francis‘ head and looked into the fire.  
“I like you, Francis dear.”

Francis laughed loudly, the mirth of it shaking James alongside him.  
“Well, I’m glad to hear that, indeed. Must say there’s a certain fondness for you that crept up on me too. No way around it now, really.”  
James smiled at him, cupped Francis‘ stubbly cheek in his palm.  
Francis tilted his face into the caress and they looked at each other for a while.  
The fire in the grate stopped flickering quite so merrily and after another while it dimmed to a warm glow.  
The lamp by the table was not burning as brightly either.  
James put his free hand on Francis‘ round shoulder, feeling the strength of him.  
“Let us go to bed, dear man. It must be late now.”  
Francis nodded against James‘ hand still cupping his cheek.  
They parted.

James banked the fire, Francis lit a candle and turned off the lamp.  
Hand in hand, the warm glow of the candle lighting the way, they took the stairs up to the bedrooms.  
Francis looked at James and James pointed at his own door.  
A nod and they entered together.  
The room was pleasantly warm and James thanked Mallaidh in a quick prayer. It made up for her tardiness with socks, that she never forgot to keep the bedrooms warm.  
Francis lit the lamp by the bed and blew the candle out.

They readied themselves for bed, climbed under the sheets together and turned to each other.  
James extinguished the lamp and Francis slipped an arm around his waist, pulled him flush again.  
A kiss pressed to the soft skin below his ear.  
James pressed one to the delicate skin of Francis‘ eyelid in return.  
They curled against each other, falling asleep between one breath and the rest.  
The last thing James thought, before he was asleep, was irony and curse and blessing all at once:

All well.


End file.
